Lamenting
by Jax118
Summary: One night in a bar, two people talk about their experiences with the afterlife and waking up in coffins. Supernatural crossover. One shot.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for my dog…and sometimes I'm sure it's the other way around.**

"So, do you remember anything?" He asked before he took a long swig of his beer.

She slowly lifted her head up from the bar and shrugged non-committedly at his question before she let out a deep sigh. "I remember warmth."

He raised his eyebrows at her information before he let out an understanding nod. "Yeah, it was more like searing heat where I was."

She allowed a small smile to grace her features, one that he returned before he realized that hers hadn't yet reached her eyes. "So, warmth. Ok, good. Anything else?"

"My mom was there," she said as she stared at her reflection in the bar mirror across from them. She blinked twice at the information that spilled out of her mouth before her eyes darted over to him, the shock on her face crystal clear at her slip up. "Had I told you that yet?"

"No, you hadn't," he told her. He placed his hand at the space between her shoulder blades and rubbed absent-mindedly before he recognized what he was doing. He stopped quickly and pulled his hand away before he provided her with a sympathetic smile instead.

"It was right when the light finally died down…there she was. She was just smiling and holding her arms out for me. I don't think I've ever felt that happy. That at peace," she explained to him before her smile dropped and she signaled for the bartender.

The bartender nodded down at her and placed his towel over his shoulder before he made his way over to her. "What can I get for you?" he asked and he stopped right in front of her.

"Vodka, chilled," she smiled up at him appreciatively as he nodded and left to fix her drink.

"Are you sure alcohol's a good idea?" He asked, bringing her attention to him. He leaned back away from her annoyed gaze before he realized that her expression held more warning than annoyed and it honestly scared him. He held up his hands in surrender before he motioned for her to continue. "So happy and at peace."

"Of course, I mean…sure I was dead, but I went to where I was supposed to go. And, my mom was there waiting for me," she explained to him.

"Yeah, my dad was where I went for a little while, too," he told her. "As selfish as it sounds, it might have been easier if he had been there with me during that time."

"He got out too?" She asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yeah, but I think he went to where you were," he told her, wincing as pain flooded back into her features. His mind raced for anything to get that expression off of her face. "So, do you remember anything besides your mom?" He asked, trying to get her back into their discussion.

She shook her head as the bartender came back with her drink. "Just put this on my tab," she told him with a smile as the bartender nodded at her again. She took the lemon wedge from the glass rim and squeezed it into the chilled vodka before she saluted her disheveled reflection and shot it. "Oh, wow," she coughed and she patted her chest. She motioned over at the bartender to fix her another one before she turned her empty shot glass upside down in front of her.

"So?" He asked, drawing her attention back to him.

"So what?"

"So, what else do you remember?" He reminded her.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned on her barstool and faced him head on. "Wait a second, why am I the only one recalling my personal afterlife experience?" She asked. "Do you think this is easy for me? To reminisce and dissect everything that I lost?"

He let out a scoff as he turned back to his drink and huddled closer to it as he shook his head in disgust. "Nobody wants to hear about Godfather Three when they can talk about the first one," he told her sardonically. "Besides, even if I wanted to tell you about it, there's not much I can remember. Almost nothing. I get these glimpses of pain and blood, of fire and I thank God that I was pulled out of there when I was." He glanced sideways over at her and hoped she bought his lie wrapped around enough anguish to make her drop the subject.

"She said goodbye to me," she whispered after a pregnant pause. She tilted her head slightly as he turned back to her in curiosity.

"Who did?"

She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath before she opened them to find him staring at her with the same look of curiosity. "My mom did," she admitted to him. "We spent almost all of my time up there together, and then one day, I started to feel funny. Like I was being stretched or pulled."

He nodded at her information and urged her to continue as the bartender returned with her new drink. She took the lemon off of the rim and, again, squeezed it into her glass before she just stared down at the liquid and played with the mangled peel. "Anyways, she turned to me with a sad smile on her face, gave me a hug and then said goodbye. The last thing I remember is feeling confused before blacking out," she told him.

"Is that how you got these?" He asked as he reached out and lightly brushed his fingers over the discolored patches of skin on her knuckles.

She glanced down at the mocking scars and let out a cynical laugh "Yeah. Even with super healing to back me up I still get these as a reminder," she shook her head bitterly before she shot her last drink. "Damn, that burns," she hissed with a quick pat to her chest.

"Well, I guess that's why I'm grateful for the soft wood family and their patriarch Pine," he told her with a smile. "I can remember waking up in that box, freaking out for a tiny moment and then reaching up and pulling the top of the coffin apart," he said, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, thanks go out to my family for the lovely headstone and solid oak coffin," she said as she raised her empty shot glass in salute. "The next time you watch Kill Bill 2, you'll have to realize that it's harder than it looks to punch your way out of that shit."

"Will do," he laughed before he flagged down the bartender for another drink for the both of them.

"Do you think we're pathetic?" She asked out of the blue, dragging his full attention back to her.

"Sweetheart, you know we are. Look at our lives, look at what we do. Yours was a calling, mine was a family mission," he told her with a shrug. At her empty look her reached out for her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders before he pulled her against his chest and cradled her there. She leaned into his embrace fully and smiled as the smell of leather, gun oil and Dean cocooned around her.

"Do you think we'll ever get over this?" Buffy asked from the comfort of his embrace.

Dean looked down at her, content to keep her against him for as long as it took to make her feel a little better. "Get over what?" he asked. "You being ripped out of Heaven by your family while I was pulled out of Hell on the command of God?"

Buffy pointed up at him, not moving from his chest. "That'd be it."

"I hate to break it you, sweetheart, but we won't," he told her as he rested his chin on the top of her head. "But, in the meantime, how about you tell me some more about your mom and I'll tell you about mine."

**Author's Note: I wrote this so long ago and I recently re-read it and I wasn't satisfied with the writing. So, I revised it a bit. Hope it's enjoyed!**


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